He let her set the pace, Let her gauge the threat, the risk, the trace Of power that lingered in this space. She didn’t soften. She didn’t yield. Not yet.But the bond hummed, a silent scream, An echo of what had been, A tether stronger than either would admit, A wolf’s whisper in the firelit pit. Russell’s voice came low, measured, steady, “I will not harm the boy,” he said, ready. Giovanni’s eyes narrowed, evaluating, Her instincts sharp, calculating, calibrating.“You’ve waited five years,” she said, “And now you speak like a man who’s led?” “I’ve waited,” he answered, calm, precise, “But not for revenge, not for device. I’ve waited to see you safe, To see the child alive, not chafed.” Her wolf stirred, ready to fight, But something in him restrained the bite. And in that tension, heavy and dense, The threads of a reckoning drew immense.The city slept around their stand, Unaware of the storm at hand. Yet inside the quiet, poised, and sharp, A mother, a father, and a wolf-bonded sp
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